The war
by TartanPhoenix
Summary: No one seems to know what happened directly after the war with Grindelwald. Maybe, there's a good reason for it.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: These characters and their universe belong to J.K. Rowling. I promise to return them in about the same condition.

Rating: T

Summary: No one seems to know what exactly happened after the war with Grindelwald. Maybe, there's a good reason for it.

The War

The familiar pressure gave way, and reflexively she took a breath. The putrid air around her froze in her chest, and the tea from lunch fought its way back up. She didn't stop as she stumbled forward, wiping her mouth with the hand not clutching her wand. The young woman stumbled her way across the cratered ground, sliding through mud, blood, and almost threw up again as her boot became tangled in poor sod's bowels.

They had been sent in as clean up; the war was over. Albus had managed to kill Peter Gindelwald, and now all that was left was to collect the dead and treat the wounded. A thick gurgling noise startled her and she turned to the right, picking through a pile of parts that used to make what appeared to be several people.

She gasped as a wet hand shot out and wrapped itself around her wrist, the metallic smell assaulting her senses. "Hilfe mich!" His voice was rough, but he couldn't have been more than sixteen as grey eyes pleaded with her.

Without a word she pulled her arm away and stood up. She had her orders, and he wasn't it, wasn't one of theirs. "Bitte! Bitte!" She simply kept moving.

"McGonagall!" Her head snapped up as Alastor made his way toward her; his gate was still uneven. He hadn't gotten used to his new leg yet. "The West side has been cleared, but we still haven't found Dumbledore yet. I want you to finish the South and make you way up the East. See if you can find him. I'm going to head up the North with a group of Aurors. Some of the wounded Germans are kicking up a fuss."

"Be careful Alastor; we can't have you getting killed now. Poppy would use me for her anatomy revision."

He nodded and turned to hobble away. She watched him go before returning to the job at hand. She could hear the moans and screams of the wounded everywhere as well as the soothing voices of the other field medics. Their white armbands stood out as a beacon in the pitch black, another reason they had to remain behind while the fighting was going on. A bright target is an easy target, as many of her friends had found out.

"No," she said, shaking her head before dropping to her knees beside a young woman. A wide gash ran across her thigh, and her right arm was broken, an equally broken wand only inches away.

With practiced movements, Minerva loosely closed the wound and re-set the bones, placing the arm in a temporary bind for transport. This one had a chance. She reached into her side back and pulled out one of the rusted bottle caps and put it on her chest. "You're going to be just fine. Close your eyes; I'm going to transport you to the field hospital." Straining fingers gratefully wrapped themselves around the broken handle just before the portkey was activated.

She went on this way, moving from one body to the next, loosing one for every one saved. She was tired, filthy, and nauseous, but she kept moving. The din of voices was finally thinning, completely falling silent as she crested a hill along the Eastern edge of the field. Her breath hitched as she saw it. A crater ten feet wide sat where the fortification had been. She could vaguely make out a sliver of what could have been the outer wall in the background, but everything else was simply smoke. She had heard the final confrontation had been epic in its scope, but nothing prepared her for the sickening awe of the sight.

She stumbled as the loose gravel crumbled under her feet, and she was forced to run to keep her balance at all. Her eyes darted back and forth across the landscape, her ears straining to hear even the faintest of sounds. There was nothing.

The hairs along the back of her neck rose up; something wasn't right. She could feel her stomach begin to knot as she took in the utter devastation. He hadn't been seen since entering the front gates of the non-existent building. Fear began to well up within her, but she quickly shoved it down again. She would know if he hadn't survived; she would know. A small trickling noise caught her attention as she rounded a bend. A lake spread about before her, beautiful and calm despite the chaos around it.

She worked her way forward, stepping over the guards that would forever guard their delusional master. There was a single tree, undamaged, not far from her position. She would be able to climb up, and hopefully the added height would give her a better view as well.

She approached slowly, weary of any survivors. She found one that would make the tree irrelevant. He was moving slowly with his arms handing at his sides. She could see his wand, stray sparks still popping in the air, but there was something in his other hand as well. She just couldn't make it out. His head was up, but even though she was carefully walking right in front of him, he didn't seem to see her. "Albus," she called out as she continued moving, relief flooding through her as she failed to see any injuries.

He looked up at the voice just as he stepped beside a burning piece of rubble, casting his form in shadow. That sense of relief turned to horror as she finally saw him in the light, and she couldn't hold back the scream that passed her lips. No one could doubt that Peter Gindelwald was dead. The contorted head in his hand and the blood caking the outside of Albus' robes would see to that.

She covered the remaining distance between them slowly, almost afraid of what he would do if startled. Steeling herself, she reached out and put a gentle hand on his arm. The warm was still there, despite the freezing skin beneath her fingers. "Let him go Albus; please, just let him go."

Blue eyes widened as the head landed in the muck, and the freed hand clamped around her arm. Her fear only grew as she watched him begin to shake. Without another word or thought, she wrapped her fingers around another bottle cap, only stopping long enough to change the destination.

It only took a whispered, "Portus," and they left the dead and the filth behind them. If only they could have left the war.


	2. Chapter 2

The boards groaned beneath their feet as the spinning stopped and the world around them came into focus. Her feet hadn't completely touched the ground before they were moving again. Minerva led him through the dark halls like a new born lamb, the shaking of his own body traveling into her own. She tried to flex her hand, but the sheer strength of his grip had caused her entire arm to go numb.

With a wave of her wand light flooded the small bathroom as they entered. With another steam began to fill the air as the she turned on the shower. Careful never to lose contact, Minerva removed his hand and set about removing his soiled robes. It would have been faster simply to banish them, but it wasn't what they both needed.

He never said a word as the layers fell around him, only his slight shiver as the air hit his skin acknowledged the act. His hands had landed on her shoulders as she undressed him, and his fingers curled, biting into the skin as her robes disappeared as well.

She pulled him with her under the spray, letting the heat envelop them. Something sparked in his eyes as the soap began its travels across his chest, and she was surprised at the flood of relief it caused. "Almost done."

She watched in despair as the dirt and filth that had coated him, smothered him, began to melt away. The first layer gave way to the second, and then the third, and it took all her willpower not to recoil at the tar-like water rolling off his body. The very smell of him would always be a haunting reminder.

Skin finally began to come into view, and she went about the task of identifying all the injuries now visible. A few scratches and bruises, but physically he was lucky. But that's not always enough.

Her mind had been so occupied with him that she never noticed as his own hand landed on her stomach, the soap gliding across her own skin. She bit down on her lip at the rush his touch never failed to create as her own efforts stopped. She looked up and was immediately arrested at the odd expression on his face. The wild look was gone from his eyes, but it had been replaced with something she had never seen before.

Time seemed to slow down and the sound of rushing water faded around them. All she heard was the clatter of the soap to the bottom and her own pounding heartbeat as the flash returned to his eyes. "Minerva." His voice was hoarse and thick, desperate. Without another word Minerva felt the biting cold of the shower tiles warring with the heat from his body pressing against her own. He was everywhere as she felt the moan rip from her throat and her back arch from the wall. Despite it all, his hands never shook as he gripped her hips, and soon she was the one trembling.

She fought desperately against the tension welled up inside of her, struggling just for the next breath. Her thighs clamped around his hips as their tongues fought. She fell, faster, farther, harder than ever before, and it enthralled her.

She became vaguely aware of the cold water battering her back and the heaving warmth beneath her; somehow they had ended up on the floor. His grip on her hips hadn't lessened, even as his lungs cried out for oxygen. Somehow she managed to reach the tap and shut of the water. She smoothed the hair out of his eyes, letting her lips follow as his own heart slowed beneath her fingertips. It wasn't until she felt him shiver that she realized just how cold it had become.

"Come on," she said softly as she unsteadily got to her feet. There was none of the usual acknowledgment that followed such an encounter. There were no soft words or soothing touches. His eyes glazed again as she dried them both and led him back into the bedroom.

Within seconds he was safely tucked beneath the sheets, being pulled into her embrace. He gripped her like a teddy bear and the exhaustion of the day's events finally overtook him. His heavy breathing evened out as she ran her fingers through his hair. It took considerably longer for her to follow.


End file.
